


Wherever You Are

by IdrisSmith



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: But It Was Three Years Ago, Canon compliant-ish, F/M, Fluff, HEA, Sherlolly - Freeform, Tooth rotting sweet, semi beta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:55:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdrisSmith/pseuds/IdrisSmith
Summary: At some point, everyone has to let go of the past and grow up. A place where one thought was a home at one point might not be later in life. Sherlock mused at how far he came on his last night at Baker Street as a home. And finding himself a different person than the man who walked through the doors years ago. Things are better with her by his side.
Relationships: Molly Hooper/Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper
Comments: 8
Kudos: 69





	Wherever You Are

**Author's Note:**

> At some point this was partly (?) BETA'd but it was a long time ago and I forgot who the email belonged to... I have a bad memory. Yes, this is me dropping random Sherlolly Fiction because I feel production today. Will this be the last one I post today? Or do I have more? I don't know... I have so many files I have to go through to publish or scrapped. Please note that this was written in 2017... So, I can't remember half of what was written in here lol...

He hadn’t realised it before, but as he walked out of 221B, it was his last night as a permanent resident there, he understood why Mrs Hudson had kept flat as it was even during his two-year absence. It was a halfway point for people who were weary and lost to come and rest a while before finding their way out. Him, he was merely the ferryman leading them down the right path.

It should have made sense back when John left, moving on with his life, or back when Mrs Hudson always seemed to have revolving tenants before he came around. Perhaps on top of her sentiment and fondness of him, she, the keeper of the house, had figured it out before he did. No one ever really stayed. Not because of the expensive real estate, but because as warm as it was, 221B was never meant to be permanent for anyone.

At the end, even he, the ferryman, had to leave.

Sherlock Holmes, who had been a permanent fixture of the place for more than a decade, even he, had found his place in the universe.

He took longer than he should have to pack that evening. Part of him wanted to scoff at his sentimentality. He wasn’t really leaving, not completely. The place he had called home for so many years, his safe haven, would still be his working space. Yet he couldn’t help it. Years spent within these walls had helped him grow to be the man he was today. He went from the unruly, impossible man people could barely tolerate to someone’s friend, someone’s best friend, someone’s lover, someone’s partner and hopefully, in the near future, someone’s husband.

Well, he was still impossible, but people around him had come to, begrudgingly, call him at the very least, ‘not a bad chap’.

“I could give up my flat, you know.”

Sherlock’s head snapped towards the direction of the door the second he heard her voice. She wasn’t supposed to be there, she had a late shift and it was the main reason as to why he had picked that day to pack what little of his personal items he wanted to bring with him.

“I cashed in a favour,” she explained, reading him like an open book. Slowly, she walked up to him and joined him on the floor where he had been sitting, surrounded by an assortment of items. “Doctor Sindhu was more than happy to oblige. I don’t think anyone has ever been happy to cover any of my shifts before he came along.”

“His daughter is teething. Taking up a late shift is statistically less stressful than a teething child.” Sherlock muttered without thinking.

Molly chuckled, resting her head on his shoulder, making no comment about her colleague. Clearly, she knew enough about the man’s situation that she went to ask him to cover her shift in the first place. “I own my flat, Sherlock. I can put it up for rent if you want to stay at Baker Street.”

He turned his body to face her, to really look at her. It was a wonder what she saw in him. He certainly wasn’t the best man for her. She had plenty of suitors who were far more capable at making her happy than he ever could. It had been a year, give or take a couple of weeks, since that fateful day where she laid her heart on the table for him, ever since he realised he was a colossal idiot and showed up at her door, begging her for a chance.

“This place has seen two explosions, several sword fights, graced by several serial killers and other unmentionables,” he reminded her.

“So?” Molly asked, raising an eyebrow. “Mrs Hudson lives here.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Mrs Hudson lives downstairs.”

“It’s your  _ home _ .” Molly countered. “I love my flat, but I know my home is with you, wherever that may be.”

He can’t help it, Sherlock would later tell himself. He couldn’t help but pull Molly close to him and kiss her soundly and thoroughly. Over the years he had known her, she was almost always the one who had to give something up. She was the one who had to work around her shift to accommodate him and for as long as they had been dating, they had spent more time at Baker Street than her flat despite the fact that her place was nearer to Barts.

_ Who was he kidding? She was definitely the one who always had to give up something every single time when he waltzed into her life _

“I love you,” he said, breathlessly.

Another thing he couldn’t stop. Saying those three little words to her every chance he got. It was as if a dam had broken the moment he had said those words to her the first time. He just couldn’t stop saying it. At first, their mutual friends thought it was hilarious, but over time, most of them would pretty much groan whenever they were stuck in the same room as the two of them. The only one who didn’t seem to mind was Lestrade who tended to just grab him by the collar muttering several variations of ‘You can continue to kiss her later, lover boy. We have a case.’

“I know,” Molly said, smiling against Sherlock’s lips. “You don’t have to give up your flat to prove that.”

“No?”

He smiled as she shook her head. They had talked about their living arrangements several times after they decided to move in together. Even from the beginning, Molly was willing to give up her flat in favour of his. It wasn’t because she didn’t like where she was living, no. Her flat was actually better than his. She had moved to a new flat she bought shortly before the end of her relationship with her then fiancé. It was bigger than the one he had once used as his bolthole and clearly bought in view of having a family. The relationship had ended, but Molly had decided to keep the flat anyway.

“Your flat is nicer though,” he said, pretending to weigh his options again even when he had made his decision the moment they talked about moving in together. “It’s closer to Barts and it certainly smells nicer than mine.”

“True on all accounts,” Molly agreed. “But, it won’t matter if you’re going to be miserable there. A relationship is about compromising where you can.”

Sherlock’s voice was stuck in his throat. He really didn’t know what he had done to deserve her. Nothing, not a thing. If he was honest with himself, he had done nothing at all. In fact, he had been a huge arse towards her in the beginning and most of the time he had known her. He liked to think he had changed since and that he was a better man because of her.

“My home,” he started, taking her hands into his. “Is wherever you are.” Repeating the same sentiment she had a few minutes before. 

He saw the tears well up in her eyes and moved to wipe the escaped droplet from her cheek. She did look lovely, even when the tip of her nose started to reddened. But, he was no idiot, only an idiot would make the person he loves cry. So, he pulled her to him, soothing her with a soft shushing sound.

“Are you sure?” she asked, pulling away.

“Positive.”

She lunged herself back into his embrace and he willingly held her even tighter. Baker Street would always be there. It would be his place of work just like Barts was Molly’s. He would continue to be the ferryman of the place, ferrying lost souls to their rightful place in life until such time when he should bow out.

“Do you need any help packing?” she asked, squashed against him.

He shook his head slightly. “No, I’m almost done. The furniture and most of the books will stay here. Plus, most of my clothes are already at your place anyway.”

“Our place.” she corrected him.

He looked around the flat again before he turned off the light, a medium-sized box lodged against his left hip and Molly leaning against the doorframe.

“Fancy some chips?” he asked as he flicked the lights off.

She smiled brightly at him, taking the right hand he had held out for her. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He would tell her later, much later, and after chips as well as putting away some of the things he had brought with him, that her place was also better if they wanted to consider expanding their family.


End file.
